


Six Years Later

by DragonGirl420



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 15:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14523513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl420/pseuds/DragonGirl420
Summary: You are in a tight spot and need Dean's help, but its been six long years since you last spoke...





	Six Years Later

It was a long shot. Unfortunately, there was no other choice. It was, call him, or your sister was going to most likely die. If anyone could understand that predicament, it was Winchester. Dean would know what to do. Losing Jameson meant losing the only family you had left in the world. Monsters had taken them all. Hell, they had even taken Dean from you; not in the same way but their constant existence meant that you and Dean would never be able to fulfill what was between you.

Six years had gone by since you had last seen him. Six long, hard years, and it wasn’t exactly a pleasant parting. Arguments, tears, accusations were the least of it, and those were only over the case you were working. The hardest part about the last time you saw Dean, was how he walked away from you.

He had claimed it was for your own good. You knew that it was really for his. That was the worst part; knowing that the only thing stopping you and Dean from happening, was his immensely stubborn nature and his fear of losing someone else he loved.

You didn’t say anything though, that was on you. You didn’t fight for him to stay, you didn’t tell him not to leave. He gave you the usual spiel, and you let him. It was easier to let him go, then to try and fight for him to stay.

Now, six years later, you sat in a stolen, beat up truck, holding a cell phone in your hands and praying that his number still worked. Your hands were trembling, but the tips of your fingers found the numbers easily as if no time had gone by.

It rang three times before the gruff, familiar voice barked a greeting from the other end of the line.

“Yeah, this is Dean.”

“D—Dean… it’s me. It’s—”

“Y/N? Is that really you?”

“Yeah, it’s me” your voice was calmer than you thought it would be given the situation. “I need your help.”

 

Hours later, the familiar headlights of his Impala turned into the empty lot, waking you from the half-dazed slumber that took over since calling.

“Y/N?!” he called, sprinting the last few steps to the truck.

Upon seeing you covered in blood, he ripped the door open and began pawing at your clothes to find the wound.

“Not my blood,” you said quietly but was enough for him to hear you.

Dean took your hand and gently helped you out of the truck, his face wrought with concern and confusion.

“Who’s is it then?” he asked, his voice rough and low.

“It’s Jameson’s.”

“Where is she?”

“In the back, she’s gone, Dean. It’s too late.”

A sob rose in your throat that you couldn’t choke back down. Tears spilled from your eyes, making your lashes stick together so it was hard to see. You could feel yourself falling to the ground, unable to keep your knees locked underneath you.

Dean grabbed you, holding you up by the waist. He threw your arm across his shoulders and walked you back towards the Impala.

“Stay here,” he commanded and helped you lean back against the hood.

You watched as he walked back towards the truck, drawing his weapon from the interior of his coat.

Just as he reached the tailgate, you saw the tarp covering the bed flutter. There was no wind. Not even a breeze. Kansas in the summer was hot, and this night, in particular, was humid, too. You called out to him, but no sound left your mouth. You went to lunge for him; your feet finding their power just as the form of your sister jumped up from the back of the truck.

Dean stumbled backward as Jameson lunged at him. His weapon discharged into her chest but it did nothing to stop her.

“What the hell?!” Dean yelled, turning towards you as he saw you approaching. “What is—”

“A ghoul!” you cried out as she came for both of you.

Her accelerated speed and strength knocked you both backward and in separate directions. Pushing to your feet as quickly as you could, you saw Dean trying to do the same, but realized Jameson would pounce on him before he would be upright.

“Hey! Ghoul whore! Where the fuck is my sister!?” you screamed, trying to incite her anger in your direction.

“She’s dead, you dumb hunter bitch,” the ghoul snarled in your sister’s voice. “Drank her all up before you even got there. Then, when I saw another hunter that I could make a meal, I decided to have a little fun. Play hurt, then dead. Lay in wait for you to break down and be sad. There’s something about depressed hunter blood that really turns me on.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Dean was on his feet. His expression conveyed kill mode had been activated and now that he knew what he was dealing with…

“Man, I didn’t wake up this morning itching to take down one of you nasty, vile things, but it’s always a damn good day when I can!”

She turned her attention to him, just as Dean was tossing the Impala’s keys in your direction. You grabbed them from mid-air and ran around to the truck, launching it open and grabbing the two machetes he always kept front and center. Some things never did change.

Racing around the other side, you saw Jameson was on him. He was doing his best to fight her off, but ghouls were stronger. Dean was on the ground, her mouth nearly on his throat.

Without thinking you lunged at her, somehow hard enough to knock her back and off Dean. The back of your head hit the ground hard, causing a few moments of disorientation. Those few moments were all the ghoul needed. The Jameson impersonator plunged her hand into your gut. A searing pain burned through you as blood gushed from the wound.

“No!” Dean screamed, finally on his feet. Picking up one of the machetes, he swung at it. The ghoul’s head fell from its decaying body and rolled to the side. The now lifeless form on top of you fell backward, no longer a threat.

Dean was at your side in seconds, his hands applying pressure to try and stop the blood. You could feel the trickle of liquid coming from your mouth and new that your time had come.

Pulling his cell from his back pocket, he hit the speed dial, Sam’s voice answering on the other end after only two rings. You tried to focus on what he was saying. The amount of blood you’d already lost was leaving you weak, unconsciousness finding you quickly. The last thing you can remember hearing was Dean’s cries for you to stay awake.

 

Everything was black. There was no sound. There was no breath. There was just, nothing. The only thing you could sense was your own thoughts.

A slight echo bounced through the darkness. It was so far away, but as it got closer, clearer, you thought it sounded like Dean. But the consciousness you could recognize didn’t think that was possible. Dean was a ghost to your life, had been for six—

A flash of memory. Sitting in a truck, your cell in hand and Dean’s name on the screen. You heard his voice again. The echo much louder than before, simultaneously causing you comfort and pain.

 

“Where the hell are you?! I need you, Cas. Just, get here!” Dean growled and ended the call.

He slammed the cell phone down on the desk and looked over at her lying on his bed. He’d covered her wounds as best as he could. Somehow getting enough pressure with his belt to tie down the rags til he could get back to the bunker.

Sam was waiting with the medical supplies they had. Between the two of them they got her patched up enough to stop the bleeding, but after twelve hours she still hadn’t regained consciousness.

Dean paced the room waiting for Castiel to fly in or at least return his call. The angel was nowhere to be found.

The door opened and Sam came in, arms full of clean bandages and gauze.

“I’m gonna check her wounds. Make sure—”

“Yeah, do what you gotta,” Dean said, pursing his lips in frustration.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle her too much. “Dean… I don’t even know what to say.”

“Yeah, makes two of us.”

“She just… I mean out of the blue? It’s been years.”

“Six years, five months and three weeks,” Dean added with a sigh. “Not that I’m counting.”

“Clearly.” Sam turned to her, lifted the remnants of her shirt carefully and examined his earlier work. “Stitches are holding. But if she doesn’t wake up soon… she needs a hospital, Dean.”

“No, she needs Cas. If he would get his feathery ass down here already!” Dean’s voice grew louder with each word.

Both he and Sam waited anxiously, hoping the angel would appear on cue. No such luck.

Sam sighed. “She’s breathing, her pulse is stronger. So that’s all good news.”

“Mmm,” Dean grumbled and began pacing again.

“I’ll go fix something to eat. You need to eat.”

“I’m fine, Sammy.”

“No, you’re not. I’ll be right back.”

Sam left and Dean closed the door softly behind him. A memory surfaced. One he hadn’t allowed to in all the years since he’d last seen her.

They were between hunts. She had met up with him as some dive bar outside of Boston. Their individual cases led them to the same place, and they took advantage of the time together.

Dean sat on the bed beside her. Gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, he tried to force a smile and look at her face. Despite the trauma of the night, she was still radiantly beautiful.

“You know, that night in Boston. I told you what I did. And, uh, that wasn’t easy for me,” he paused, let the memory linger for a moment before he continued. “Saying what I did… I thought it would be enough for us. We could, I don’t know, just be happy for like, a minute.”

Telling Y/N he loved her was harder than most of the hunts he’d been on in his life. A month later, when he walked away from her completely, was the single hardest thing, aside from the death of his parents, that he had to deal with.

“I’m such an ass, Y/N. I never should have left you like that. I didn’t care about the case. I mean, I did, but you know… not more than you. I was scared and wanted an out. Cause, losing you… I just—”

Dean hung his head, the tears splashing onto his hand and hers as he silently wept. He allowed himself a minute, but only a minute. Roughly swiping at the streaks on his face, he looked up at her face and drew in a deep breath.

“Alright, you need to wake up now, ‘cause I gotta say something. So, C'mon, wake up,” he nodded to himself, thinking this would be the approach that worked. “C’mon, rise and shine little girl. There’s work to be done. We got plenty of cases to keep us busy, besides, you haven’t seen the bunker. It’s like that secret fort we used to joke about having. Well, it’s real…”

His brow furrowed, his chest ached. He couldn’t lose her again. Standing from the bed, Dean started to pace again and calling for Castiel. The impatience was building to anger, and he would lose his cool if something didn’t give soon.

Dean looked at her again, lying motionless in his bed with the exception of the slight rise and fall of her chest. He loved her beyond measure, beyond reason. And, she was dying.

“I… I don’t know what to do here, Y/N,” he approached the bed meekly, afraid that she was somehow punishing him for leaving. “I was wrong. I never should have walked away from you. I was an idiot, as usual. But don’t punish me. Just, come back to me. I have to tell you…”

His resolve finally broke completely.

Dean made his way back to her side on the bed. He took her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

“I have awful timing. But it doesn’t mean I don’t mean it. There are things we want, down under what we know, under even what we feel. These are things our souls want, and mine wants you. That’s what I should have told you, instead of walking away. I want you, Y/N. In my life, in my house, in my car, in my bed. I only want you.”

A rush of warm air passed by Dean’s ears. Castiel was at his side in an instant, his hand already outstretched and charged to heal. Dean scrambled back, giving Cas room to do his angelic thing. The blue glow of his healing Grace filled the room and filled Dean’s heart with hope.

When it finally died down, Cas turned to him. “I’m sorry I took so long.”

“As long as you made it,” Dean said with a smirk and clapped him on the shoulder.

Dean looked down at her blood-soaked clothes and pulled the bandages off only to reveal a patch of perfectly smooth skin. His eyes scanned the length of her body until he got to her face. She was twitching her nose, a peek of her tongue trying to lick her lips.

“Water, Cas… get her some water,” he said and fell to her side as Castiel disappeared to get what he requested. “Sweetheart come back to me… Y/N?”

“Dean?” her voice cracked with his name, and he exhaled the anxiety he’d been holding onto since getting her phone call.

His gaze was soft upon her face, just relishing in the site of her beautiful eyes that were now opening. “Yeah, Y/N, it’s me. I’m here”

“Don’t leave again… Dean, please,” she managed to say through a sandpapered tongue. Her hand clinging to his as he leaned down closer to her. 

“Never again, sweetheart, never again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt challenge. Prompt was: “I have awful timing. But it doesn’t mean I don’t mean it. There are things we want, down under what we know, under even what we feel. These are things our souls want, and mine wants you."


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